


Rosemary and Mint

by themikeymonster



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drunken Hair Fondling, Fluff and Humor, Jealous!Matthew Murdock, Lots Of Drinking Really, M/M, Matt's Not In Denial He's Just Stubborn, Matt/Hair tbh, References to Foggy/Marci, Somewhat Frivolous Approach To Matt's Religion, The College Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themikeymonster/pseuds/themikeymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's going to Hell in a handbasket and he doesn't particularly need a checkered blanket, he's not going to have a <i>picnic</i>, Foggy, but thanks for the thought, anyway.<br/>--<br/><span class="small">imported from the DD kinkmeme</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosemary and Mint

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing rescued from the kinkmeme because i've been terribly short on inspiration lately. The whole prompt was basically [Matt/Foggy'sHair](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=9047445#cmt9047445), but I fail at brevity so  
> The original Fill can also be found at that location, and has a much more casual Matt Narrative 
> 
> This is actually tame, no additional warnings or notes needed! Or if I missed some, please let me know and I'll fix that.

* * *

 

 

The guys talk a lot about being an 'ass man' or a 'boob man', which is vulgar and crude but not the worst thing Matt's ever heard. Sometimes they try to include Matt and he just kind of aims his head in their general direction condescendingly before tapping his glasses: _what are you, blind?_ It's not that he doesn't like both of those parts of the human anatomy, it's just not what attracts him to someone.

 

"Guess that makes you a 'voice man', then." Always posed awkwardly because a world without sight is unimaginable to most of them, and Matt mostly just grimaces and ignores them.

 

A person's voice _does_ matter to Matt, though. It's just the way it is, but he can't imagine that it really affects him more than anyone else who has their hearing. He can't imagine that anyone has good looks stunning enough to excuse a truly grating voice, though what Matt can't tolerate isn't the same for everyone. Voices _matter_ , because his hearing  _is_ the sense that gets stimulated the most in his interactions with people, but he likes listening to all kinds of voices so that hardly makes him a 'voice man'.

 

Touch though. That's a little different. What Matt really looks for in a romantic partner is someone with a nice head of hair.

 

It varies, of course, what counts as a 'nice head of hair'. He's actually not all that particular about it; he likes the feeling of tangling his fingers into it, he likes that it's a relatively innocent touch that can wrack his partner with shivers, arouse them or soothe them with just a single caress. He likes the way hair feels against his skin, and even the smell of most shampoos and treatments. Some dyes aren't even that bad, but even the worst ones are okay as long as it's been a week since. 

 

He likes combing his fingers through hair - all kinds of hair. He's liked pretty much every hair type he's gotten his hands on: flat-iron straight or tight and wiry or thin or course or thick or kitten-soft. He likes it long and he likes it chopped or cut oddly or even mostly buzzed off. People's heads are always so warm beneath his hypersensitive fingertips, and he likes that their hair is a part of them that he can touch, an intimacy he can steal, like touching someone's face when he can't meet their eyes. He likes it, and his partners like it, and so it's not a problem.

 

\--

 

Foggy _is_ a problem.

 

That's not entirely true and it's certainly not charitable. Charity, Matt reminds himself, is a virtue. He _should_ be virtuous towards Foggy. Foggy deserves it - he's nothing if not nice. Foggy's thoughtful and generous and has a voice that Matt has absolutely no problem listening to for hours at a time, absorbing the words when Foggy's actually saying something or letting it lull him to sleep if Foggy's drunk and speaking at random.

 

Foggy's soft and Foggy's warm and most importantly: Foggy likes Matt. Foggy likes Matt in a lot of ways, likes being Matt's friend and likes being Matt's guide and likes being Matt's roommate. He's a good roommate. He doesn't bring girls back and he picks up after himself and he's not an asshole about his music and he snores like a chainsaw in need of oil but Matt grew up in the boy's dorm and it's nothing he can't block out with some help from his ear plugs.

 

In other words: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson is perfect and Matt desperately needs this roommate and friendship thing to work out.

 

The reasons why it just might not: Franklin Nelson's hair.

 

That's a weird thing to object to, right? Matt's not exactly objecting to it, is the thing: he's objecting to it being attached to his roommates' scalp. And it isn't that it's bad hair - it's good hair. Foggy takes care of it, Matt can tell from the quality of the brush that he uses and the way his shampoo smells when Foggy comes out of the shower, bright and fresh with rosemary and mint. He always lets it drip-dry over a towel around his shoulders, and he hangs the towel to dry so Matt can't even complain about _that_.

 

And it's long, is the thing. Matt is slightly biased toward long hair because he likes to tangle his fingers in it, likes to stroke it and pull it a bit sometimes - never too hard, unless his partner likes that. Matt can tell from the sound of the brush pulled through it and the way it slides over Foggy's clothes that it's longer than most men wear their hair - or at least, wear it and take good care of it, anyway.

 

Matt wonders if this is how sighted people feel when they see someone with something they like, breasts or butts or hands or a smile. Every time he hears Foggy's hair move, he can't stop thinking about it, his fingers start itching, and he's developed a complex about the smell of rosemary and mint. His brain catches over it, all tied up and circling back around to the thought over and over again.

 

He just can't think of a way to get his hands on Foggy's hair without accidentally encouraging Foggy's attraction to him, as polite and subtle as Foggy's been about it since that initial awkward meeting. Matt certainly doesn't mind, but he does have a policy of not sleeping with people who he can't avoid if things get awkward later. Things _always_ get awkward later, and Foggy's his roommate; ergo: Matt can't sleep with Foggy.

 

Even though he thinks it might be really good. He could make it really good for Foggy, and Foggy's generous and thoughtful and warm and soft and that would make it good for Matt. Which is a moot point because: not sleeping with Foggy.

 

It's a good, sound plan.

 

Wiser men than Matthew Murdock have pointed out that plans don't survive initial contact with the enemy, and Foggy already has a way of making Matt do things he doesn't mean to in the first place. Matt generally tries to avoid drinking because it's just no good with his senses, but this means nothing to Foggy, and why should it? He doesn't know about Matt's senses.

 

Foggy's _extremely_ handsy when he's drunk. Matt figures the only reason he isn't when he's sober is because of the whole 'handsome duck' thing, but six shots later he's all in Matt's space and Matt can't even find the moral fortitude to wish he minded, the Good Lord have mercy on his pathetic, blackened soul.

 

Matt's really bad at resisting temptation, so it's not even fair.

 

The beds provided hardly fit even one drunk person, and apparently Foggy and Matt didn't even try, because he wakes up in the morning on the floor with what feels like the entirety of Mount Rushmore drilling into his skull. He's also wrapped around Foggy, clinging to his back like a limpet with one hand fisted around some of Foggy's hair like it's his personal teddy bear.

 

He reasons that there's no way he's going to get up with a national monument trying to pry its way into his skull, so he finds a new, less uncomfortable position. He also lets go of Foggy's hair because that is just weird. That is just -

 

That is some really soft hair. Matt had figured it had to be well taken care of, since Foggy has nice shampoo and a decent brush, but. It's actually really, really soft. He has split ends, which probably means that he just never cut it one day and let it grow out, and Matt thinks that he's probably not planning to until the day it all gets cut off completely. (When that happens, Matt's pretty sure he's going to end up holding a service, because seriously. It's some seriously nice hair, rosemary and mint and all.)

 

"Matt, buddy," Foggy slurs, "Are you petting my head?"

 

"No," Matt lies blatantly, even though he's pretty much caught red-handed; he's already going to Hell, so oh well. His head feels awful and the distracting feeling of Foggy's hair under his fingers is the only thing that is making being alive worthwhile at the moment, and - well, Foggy didn't sound mad, so Matt doesn't see a reason to stop.

 

"Oh, okay. Just asking," Foggy says easily, because apparently he'll believe anything Matt says. Foggy groans and squirms a bit, which jostles Matt, and that's just not acceptable. Matt pushes down lightly on his head and combs his fingers through his hair there because there's no way he's getting up _or_ letting Foggy get up for that matter.

 

Foggy makes a kind of surprised hum, but he stops moving, which is the whole goal. Eventually his breathing deepens again, and Matt realizes that he's going back to sleep.

 

The feeling of Mount Rushmore drilling into his head is joined by a similar level of drilling in his slightly displeased stomach. The only thing Matt likes better than touching someone's hair is doing it while they fall asleep and he is in _so much trouble_. The Great Adversary has made a successful bid for Matt's soul. He's already in Hell. This is the worst. Matt is the worst. This is the best-worst.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

\--

 

Alright, getting away with something like that while hungover is one thing, but Matt can't take risks like that. He makes a valiant effort to avoid any similar situations for a while, and nothing weird or encouraging happens since. He's actually pretty sure that Foggy doesn't even suspect anything, which is even better.

 

Foggy starts dating Marci, which is even worse.

 

It doesn't make a big difference, at first, but then Foggy starts smelling more and more like her perfume and her favorite foods. Matt starts considering possibility that he'll have to make a dentist appointment and start wearing a mouth guard to bed or otherwise end up with cracked teeth. He's gotten used to the way Foggy smells, and he doesn't like way the steady association is changing that. It makes Foggy seem like an intruder, at times.

 

The day that Foggy comes back smelling of Marci's shampoo, Matt breaks a pen and ink goes everywhere. Foggy has to help him clean it up, which doesn't help at all. It puts Foggy in his personal space again and Matt just smells her shampoo even stronger.

 

"What were you even doing with this," Foggy asks as he throws the pen and the paper towels away. He's not mad, just curious.

 

"Having busy hands helps me think," Matt says. "You know I used them to read. If I have something in my hands, it helps me retain information, memorize it and process it."

 

"Oh," Foggy says, "That's cool. Guess you were thinking of something that made you a little ticked off, huh?"

 

Matt smiles, but it feels thin and fake. "I guess. I already forgot what I was thinking about." The scent of Marci's shampoo is making his nose itch. It's a good brand, Matt reassures himself. He's met Marci. She uses expensive lotion and expensive make up and her clothes are good quality. She has good tastes. Her hair _does_ sound nice against her clothes, so it must be soft.

 

He's just not used to smelling so many chemicals on Foggy, that's all, right? Foggy's normal shampoo is more 'organic' - the one splurge point in Foggy's budget, the one extravagance in his otherwise pathetically stereotypical broke college-student lifestyle. Matt can't sleep on most breeds or weaves of cotton, so it's not like he doesn't understand.

 

Of course, Marci's shampoo doesn't smell like it has any natural oils at all, and Foggy's shampoo doesn't have nearly as many as Matt's shampoo. He imagines that he can hear Foggy's hair and scalp drying out as they speak.

 

That night, before they go out for drinks at Matt's behest, he finds a second to go into the bathroom and stick Foggy's bottle of shampoo into the fill-tank at the back of the toilet. Foggy's hair will thank him, so he doesn't feel guilty in the least. The things Matt does for his friend.

 

The next morning, Foggy calls out, "Hey, Matt, have you seen my shampoo?"

 

Matt lets the moment linger like he usually does, then replies, "I haven't even seen mine, honestly, Foggy."

 

"You know what I mean! You didn't throw anything out, did you?"

 

"No?" He's had to throw out empty containers for Foggy before, so the question isn't entirely unreasonable. Foggy sees an empty container, still thinks he has something, and continues to forget to pick up replacements for it until Matt throws it out. "You still had half a bottle, I think."

 

"Well, it's not here!"

 

"Well, use mine, then," he calls back, and reaches up and rubs the smirk off his mouth because there is literally no reason to be smirking, _what the Hell, Matty_. He's doing this out of concern for Foggy's hair; having superior tastes in shampoo compared to Marci is no reason to smirk.

 

There's a short silence, and then Foggy calls back, "You sure, buddy? Your shampoo is stupid expensive."

 

"Yeah, sure," he says, "It's fine, that's one of the few things we can share, right?"

 

Wait, no, that sounded - that didn't sound like anything Matt _meant_ to say. He's not even entirely sure what he means by it, except their life is harder, sometimes, just because sharing things like text books or course work or class notes is a struggle. Even though Foggy had downloaded the necessary screen-readers for Matt onto his own laptop, even though Matt told him not to -

 

"Alright, thanks!" Foggy calls back, like he didn't even notice the weirdness of Matt's offer.

 

Matt's not sure why, but he can feel his pulse rocketing through his body at a nervous, panicky rate, feeling like every heart beat is shaking his body. What the Hell. It takes a moment of concentration to just breathe and get his head out of his body and focus on his book.

 

Everything is more or less back to normal by the time Foggy's done in the shower. He comes out with dripping wet hair and the smell of Matt's shampoo heavy in the air. "That stuff feels weird, man," he says.

 

"It's sulfate-free," Matt points out, and Foggy makes an enlightened sound, so at least he knows what that means; Matt had been betting on it. He wanders by and Matt takes a deep breath, only partially to make sure that he's still calm.

 

His shampoo isn't flavored with fruits or flowers like the shampoos that Foggy prefers, but it's certainly not sharp with chemicals. It suits Foggy a lot better than Marci's shampoo, he thinks, and flips to the next page of his text book.

 

\--

 

"You're totally petting my hair, buddy," Foggy says.

 

"No, I'm not," Matt says absently. They've made it safely back to their dorm, which feels a bit like a miracle at the moment. Matt's only certain that it really is _their_ room because it smells like him and Foggy. Otherwise he'd have no idea, he's _that_ drunk.

 

Why'd he think it was a good idea to get this drunk? He's not sure. There were reasons against it, but he can't remember those at the moment, either. Something about bad things happening, but nothing bad has happened _yet_ , except for the fact that he and Foggy are on the floor.

 

Matt's about forty-seven percent sure that he was the one that went down first, just face-planted into the middle of the floor because fuck it: close enough. He's equally certain that Foggy had rolled him over, because he's on his back now. He thinks Foggy must have collapsed shortly after that, because that makes the most sense and also means that Matt clearly had the right idea in the first place. Even if his arm is going numb because Foggy's using his shoulder joint as a pillow; it can't be very comfortable, but that's Foggy for you.

 

Foggy and his stupid hat. Matt has a pretty intense grudge against it, even though he reluctantly agrees that it's better if Foggy's ears don't get cold. The hat itches the skin on the back of Matt's fingers, and it's about the worst feeling that he thinks he's ever had applied to his skin. The only reason he's even attempting to put up with it is because he's got Foggy's hair under his fingers, and its soft and warm.

 

"You totally are," Foggy says, but he's muffled and sounds half asleep.

 

Matt shushes him. "You're drunk, Foggy," he says.

 

"No, _you're_ drunk. You're the one petting my hair."

 

"It's good hair." Surely no one could blame him for that. Any idiot would be able to look at Foggy and see that he has nice hair and also would want to touch it. It's a given law of the universe, or at least Matt's pretty sure it is. "And no, I'm not."

 

"You're a terrible liar, Matty, I can feel your fingers in my hair. Wait. Those are your fingers, right?"

 

"Nope," Matt says, popping the letter, and for some reason that's fucking hilarious, so he starts giggling, strange little hiccupy noises that he's mildly embarrassed are actually coming out of his mouth.

 

"What the fuck," Foggy says, rolling off and away from him. Matt flexes his fingers mournfully. Well, that's what liars get, he thinks; they get Foggy's hair taken away from them.

 

It sounds like Foggy's just ripped his hat off; Matt thinks it's landed somewhere near the foot of his bed. He's going to kick it under his bed if he can remember to do so, and then later maybe burn it, and then he's going to get Foggy a better hat that isn't terrible and an abomination.

 

While Matt's hatching that plan, Foggy seems to be having a mild freak out about whatever he thinks was touching him. He's ruffling his fingers through his hair and his upset slurring doesn't even sound like English. Maybe Punjabi, Matt thinks. "Oh my god," he manages at last, "What if it's spiders? I can't stand spiders, Matt! I don't even use hairspray!"

 

The giggles hiccup right out of his throat. "What are you _talking about_ ," Matt wonders, heaving himself up a bit onto his side, but: nope. Not making it into an upright position. He settles for crawling to Foggy's side, who apparently has rolled a fair distance. If there's a Stop, Drop, Roll competition, Foggy is going to ace it. Matt feels stupidly proud for a moment before the sound of hair breaking catches his attention. "Stop," he adds, "I'll check, okay, Foggy? For the spiders."

 

"Oh my god, please," Foggy says, somewhat hysterically.

 

Matt's torn between hilarity and guilt, but on the other hand: Foggy's hair. He has permission to touch it and it would be a shame to let the opportunity pass by. Kneeling seems like a bad idea when the room is spinning so hard, so Matt settles down on the floor slightly behind Foggy; even through both of their pants leg, the contact feels a bit hot.

 

He belated realizes that he shouldn't have known so precisely where Foggy was, but maybe Foggy's too drunk and upset to notice. It's just that even with his senses all muffled, the alcohol makes Foggy burn awful bright against his skin, so he forgets sometimes.

 

Foggy is shaking a bit under the hand that Matt places on his shoulder, and Matt didn't even realize he was grinning until this moment, when it drops off his face. "Hey," Matt says, and then sweeps his hand up to the top of Foggy's head where it's joined by the other. "Look, I'm gonna save you from them, okay?"

 

"Just hurry up," Foggy says, still upset, and Matt had forgotten completely about how much Foggy doesn't like spiders and other things that creep and crawl; hates to kill them but doesn't want them anywhere near him either.

 

"I got you," he says. Foggy's hair is all tousled up and a bit tangled from his frantic search for spiders earlier, and Matt's hands smooth over it automatically, digging in slightly to straighten it out. It only takes a few passes of Matt's hands for the roughness to smooth to the normal silky consistency, cold and smooth on the outside and hot next to Foggy's skin. The transition to the rough ends where the hair splits is oddly fascinating. It'd be even better with freshly shorn hair, Matt thinks - the cool silky length terminating in a soft bristling that would curl and snap away from his fingers the way hair that's been cut for a while didn't.

 

A few more passes of Matt's fingers proves that there's not a snag left in Foggy's hair, and Matt suddenly registers that Foggy's heart is beating loud and fast, primed for action and not for flight. Not the frantic patter of fear, but the fast beat of -

 

Matt remembers with sudden clarity that his plan is _not_ to sleep with Foggy.

 

"See," he says, then clears his throat. "No spiders." He twists away toward his bed and crawls awkwardly over to it so that he can climb in and hide under his covers for probably a month or two. He wonders if he can change to online-only classes and just not bother coming out ever.

 

"Umm," Foggy says, drawing the sound out for a long, baffled moment. After a while, he gets up and stumbles into his bed with nothing more than a confused, "'kay, night, Matty."

 

They are _way_ too hammered, there is no way Foggy will remember any of it, Matt reassures himself.

 

\--

 

Foggy eventually breaks up with Marci, so Matt goes out drinking with him for commiseration/celebration reasons, although Matt is pretty sure the only one celebrating is him, and also he's a terrible person. He'll worry about it when he's dead. It'll matter more then, probably.

 

Of course, Matt's just celebrating not having to smell her perfume or shampoo, that's all. No more shall it haunt their room.

 

Foggy isn't drinking much, but he doesn't really seem all that hard done by the break-up, so Matt figures they're probably not going to get falling down drunk. He has mixed feelings about this, because on one hand, he doesn't like hangovers in the least, because having his senses bounce back and forth uncontrollably is probably the worst, but on the other hand, Foggy is probably going to be significantly less cuddly and Matt won't have excuses.

 

Which is to say, he won't have to _find_ excuses - to. Not touch Foggy. Or his hair. Obviously.

 

When Foggy makes noises about heading back, Matt figures he can pick up the tab, even though he'd only nursed one drink the whole night. "No, no," he says, "This one's on me."

 

Foggy makes a startled noise of protest in the middle of downing the last of his drink and nearly chokes on it. "Wish you would have told me that earlier, buddy," he says, "I could have been drinking like a king!"

 

"I'm not _rich_ ," Matt says with laugh; he budgets better than Foggy does - or does without more, whichever, he doesn't really need much. "Why do you think I didn't say anything at the start of this?" Foggy hisses and boos at him and Matt can't hold back the grin that breaks wide and stupid over his face.

 

Tipsy or not, Matt just enjoys Foggy. Everything is always so easy between them, even with Matt's inappropriate touching that hopefully Foggy knows nothing about, even with Foggy being attracted to him. Everything is made nice and light-hearted and warm and - and homely. Matt just _laughs_ more when Foggy's around; that's just the kind of guy Foggy is. Matt really likes that person.

 

He's not drunk enough to sling an arm around Foggy's shoulders, but he's feeling soppy and warm and so he does anyway. Foggy won't mind, he rationalizes. Foggy's the one that gets handsy when he's drunk in the first place. Something niggles at him as he sinks into the warm of Foggy's side, but Foggy's talking, the feel of is vibrating up into Matt's arm through his elbow against Foggy's back, and he's in too good of a mood to pick at things.

 

Of course, that only lasts until he suddenly realizes what was bothering him, just shortly before they make it back to their room. He's used to ignoring it, after all, just like he ignores the white noise of his own body and the people closest to him, so that's probably why -

 

Matt hardly needs to, but Foggy's not supposed to know about his senses, and that's reason enough to lean in close, close enough to feel the cold strands of Foggy's hair all over his face. "Is that my shampoo?" Matt asks, surprised.

 

He doesn't actually have to ask, of course. He could have recognized the smell across the room without really trying if he'd been thinking about it.

 

Foggy's heart jumps below Matt's arm. "Um," he says, "Yeah, man, sorry. I should've asked, I just - I ran out. Is that okay?"

 

For a moment, Matt can't think of anything to respond with; he knows for a fact that Foggy still has an eighth of a bottle in the shower. It's Matt's job to toss out the empty containers, so he checks every time he takes a shower because it's efficient that way.

 

"Sure," he says at last. He really isn't rich, and so he doesn't have a lot of extra expense money, and Foggy has significantly more hair than he does. Still, Foggy's got his own sense of right and wrong and the situation won't get desperate, Matt knows that.

 

"Okay, good, thanks," Foggy says, like there had ever been a question. He shuffles them into the room and gets the door closed, and then his breath catches for a second and he adds, a little fast, "I dunno, it just does really nice things for my hair, so -"

 

He doesn't finish the thought so Matt hums into the silence, as noncommittally as he possibly can. Falling back on his old habit of pretending to be extra blind to the world, he fumbles around a bit. He just. He needs to think about that for a second, or rather to _avoid_ thinking about that for a bit, or -

 

It sounds like Foggy's just released his lip from his teeth, and he follows it with "Wanna touch it?"

 

Foggy is trying to kill him, Matt thinks somewhat frantically, fumbling with his cane a bit before he manages to lean it against the wall where it won't be in the way or fall down. Matt's so stupid. He's obviously given himself away somehow, this was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Sleeping with one's roommate is probably the stupidest thing anyone could possibly do, ever.

 

"I mean, it's just so soft now," Foggy says, faux-brightly. He's nervous, throat tight and the tang of salt in the air isn't Matt alone. "Really manageable and shiny. Brought out all those bright undertones and everything! Very nice shampoo."

 

If he just holds out, Matt thinks in a moment of clarity - if he just holds out, Foggy will lose confidence and withdraw the suggestion and they'll both pretend they were just super drunk and Matt will figure out how to keep his hands to himself. Probably through the dedicated application of serial dating. He's done it before, he can do it again. He just has to give Foggy nothing, and that will be the end of that. They can just go on being best friends who are really close and Matt will ignore the fact that Foggy's attracted to him and he's attracted to Foggy and -

 

"Okay," Matt's mouth says. Matt's going to file for a divorce from his mouth due to irreconcilable differences. That will be one for the courts.

 

"What," Foggy says, and "Really?" and then "I mean - alright! Okay, so let's do this."

 

He's vaguely aware that his palms are hot and a bit sweaty, so he takes a moment to brush them against his jacket before turning back to Foggy. He's dumb. _So_ dumb. Matt takes a short breath to steady himself and then presents his hands to Foggy, because he's currently pretending to be super blind and Foggy's not all that drunk.

 

Foggy takes off the stupid hat that Matt forgot to get rid off and tosses it over his shoulder. He misses his own bed by a mile, and he takes hold of Matt's hands, and places them right into the thick of it. His hair is relatively freshly washed and he knows that Foggy brushed it before they went out, so it has a fair amount of volume to it. It's wind-cold and when Matt sinks his fingers in, hot from Foggy's body heat.

 

It _is_ slightly silkier, but Foggy's a lying liar who lies because there's no way Foggy's been sneaking Matt's shampoo, he would have noticed. Either the smell, or from the discrepancy in the weight of the bottle. What _has_ Foggy been doing to it?

 

Foggy's brought this on himself, so Matt doesn't feel any guilt in stepping closer and letting himself indulge a bit. He reaches up to the top of Foggy's head and sweeps his hands down over his hair, and if shiny had a texture, Matt figures that this would probably be it. He reaches the ends of Foggy's hair, and an involuntary noise escapes him because they've been _cut_.

 

And the ends bristle and curl against Matt's fingers just like he thought they would. No more than half an inch, or maybe an inch has been cut off, but it's gotten rid of the split ends, and -

 

Matt can't quite help doing it again, combing down from Foggy's scalp to the ends of his hair. It twists and slides over and around his fingers without tangling, slick and cool and warm and smelling like Matt - Matt's shampoo, but by that extension, _Matt_.

 

He hopes Foggy doesn't make a habit of it - Foggy can borrow his scarf or something, and that would be nice, but Matt likes it when Foggy smells like himself, like his own shampoo. Matt likes the way _Foggy_ smells, and how he's soft and warm and nice. Foggy's like a basket full of kittens, only without the claws and the annoying high-pitched voices.

 

Foggy's actually breathing kind of shallow and fast and his heart is pattering and - oh. Right. Um.

 

"Um," Matt says, but can't quite get his fingers to release Foggy's hair. They want to tighten a bit, and scrape his nails against Foggy's scalp. He has a bone-deep yearning for that first time, when Foggy had fallen asleep beneath his fingers, and it comes on fast and takes him by surprise and neatly slams his panic button. His throat struggles to swallow for a second.

 

"No, Matt," Foggy says before Matt can find a brush-off. "This _is_ a little homo." His words are warning even as his voice breaks a bit.

 

Matt fails to find words at all, a slightly hysterical giggle escaping him, and he's a bit annoyed that Foggy's braver about this than he is - then again, of course Foggy is. Foggy hit on him almost immediately upon meeting him. And Matt's nervous, now; he's not sure _why_ he's nervous about this, except for the fact that things _have to_ go right with Foggy - they just do. He licks his lips nervously, trying to gather his thoughts to find something to say, and hears Foggy echo the gesture, and -

 

Fuck it.

 

Matt's hands are already tangled in Foggy's hair, but he twists his fingers further in, curls them around silky strands to guide Foggy forward even as Matt leans in. He can make this good for Foggy, he knows that, so he does; he kisses him hot and sharp and - because he wants to, because it's  _important_ to - sweet.

 

And Foggy, because he's _Foggy_ , makes it good for Matt, too.

 

\--

 

Foggy's head is a comforting weight against Matt's shoulder, beside the text book settled heavy and flat and useless against his chest. He had been reading it, but there are more interesting things for him to put his fingers on. The dorm beds aren't meant for two people, but they're sober and have their balance and Matt's pretty flexible so they're making it work.

 

"I knew it," Foggy says, and Matt doesn't need to hear his voice, warm and thick with sleep, to know that he's drifting off, but he likes the sound of it and can't complain. He hums inquiringly, and Foggy clarifies: "All along, I knew it. I was onto you, Murdock. You're only with me for my glorious hair."

 

The strands twist around his fingers, silky and smooth and warm with body heat and cool with the air. Matt pulls his fingers through the tangled mess, taming it one stroke at a time. "No, I'm not," he says, and it's the honest to God truth.

-

**Author's Note:**

> ever be writing and just laughing at yourself because of the sheer irony in the PoV character's thoughts? It's my actual favorite.


End file.
